


A Picture Perfect Ending

by Cobrilee



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (it's early on), First Kiss, Getting Together, Light Angst, M/M, Photographer Stiles Stilinski, Single Parent Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cobrilee/pseuds/Cobrilee
Summary: "Of all the photography studios in all the towns in all the world, you walked into mine."There's a reason for that, Stiles just doesn't know what it is when the chime of the door opening rings ten minutes before close. At first, he kind of hates whoever is delaying the end of his day.Before the end of it, he loves them both.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 52
Kudos: 851





	A Picture Perfect Ending

**Author's Note:**

> I started this in late 2017, prompted by [this story](https://www.boredpanda.com/cancer-story-comics-not-always-right/?utm_source=google&utm_medium=organic&utm_campaign=organic). I did not recall all the details of the story, just the basics, but apparently it really sank into my subconscious because I still managed to incorporate a lot of the details anyway. 
> 
> Thank you to [Rhysiana](https://rhysiana.tumblr.com/%22) for the beta read and [Doctortay](https://doctortay.tumblr.com/) for finding the link to the story, since the original Tumblr post I found it in is long buried in my history and we all know how well Tumblr's search function works these days.

It has been the longest of all long days, and Stiles can’t stop glancing at the clock, mentally cheering along as it ticks away the final few minutes to closing time. His last client had vacated the studio less than twenty minutes ago, and the last ten minutes of his work day are now on the final countdown.

Great, now he’ll have that song stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

Humming the tune under his breath, he sets about cleaning up the last few things so that when it ticks over to six o’clock he’ll be ready to walk out the door. It isn’t until he hears the chime over it that he freezes and swallows a groan.  _ You couldn’t have waited another fifteen minutes until I’d be gone? _ he thinks to himself in despair, but he puts on a forced smile and glances up to politely attempt to redirect whoever it is to come back tomorrow.

Only to blink at the sight of an exhausted man and a very, very sick little girl.

“Is there something I can help you with?” he asks, cautiously, and the man struggles to smile at him.

“I’m hoping you have time to do one more shoot tonight,” he begins, and Stiles’ heart sinks. “I know you have a waiting list a mile long, but…”

He glances down at who Stiles presumes to be his daughter, and he doesn’t have to say what Stiles already knows.  _ That little girl will probably be gone long before I have another opening. _ “No problem. It’ll only take me a few minutes to set up the equipment.” He gestures for the man and the little girl to sit on the couch he keeps for his clients, while he fusses with the equipment he’d taken down literally only minutes before. Strangely, he no longer feels weary or anxious to get home; this is where he needs to be, and he’s grateful the man didn’t walk up fifteen minutes later, after all.

The little girl has been quiet this whole time, and Stiles isn’t surprised, since she looks like she can barely stand on her own. She’s bald, her skin pale and drawn, with an oxygen tube coming out of her nose and taped to her cheek. Her shoulders hunch forward and her purple dress hangs off her like she’s a too-small hanger. 

She has beautiful green eyes, though, which she lifts periodically to study Stiles as he adjusts the key light and the backdrop fabric. He winks and smiles at her, and she blushes and drops her head. Another minute later and she’s peering back up at him again, smiling shyly. Stiles is pretty sure he’s in love, and it breaks his heart that she likely won’t even make it to her next birthday.

When everything is ready he turns to face the dad, who’s been sitting back on the couch with the little girl snuggled into his side, his eyelids drooping. He looks like hell; Stiles thinks in another time, another place, the man would be incredibly attractive, but his daughter’s illness has taken a toll on him. His eyes are exhausted, spiderwebs of red running through the whites, and his beard is patchy and overgrown in places. He looks like he maybe tried to shave but gave up on making the effort less than halfway through. His clothes are also big on him, though not as big as his daughter’s are on her. The navy jacket slips off one shoulder, but he doesn’t look interested in tugging it back up.

Glancing between the two of them, Stiles rubs his hands together briskly. “All right, everything is ready. Do you have any special requests?”

The little girl looks up pleadingly at her father, who sighs. “Chrissy, I don’t know if he can do that.”

Stiles narrows his eyes; he loves a challenge. “I can do anything.”

The man looks at him askance, a skeptical curve to his mouth. “She wants to look like she’s riding a unicorn.”

Shrugging, Stiles tugs at the background fabric he’d put into place, exchanging it for a sheet with a blue sky and a rainbow. “It’ll just take a little bit of editing magic,” he promises the girl, who beams up at him. “In the meantime, I have a stuffed unicorn in the prop bin. Let me grab it.” 

As he heads for the bin he hears a fierce whisper of, “I  _ told _ you, Daddy! Mr. Stiles is the best!” and he’s intrigued. This wasn’t a random stop-in, then; they had purposely sought him out. Apparently at the girl’s--Chrissy’s--behest.

He’s going to make this the best photo shoot of his life.

Over the course of the next half hour, he does everything he can possibly think of to make Chrissy happy. It doesn’t take much to draw her out of her quiet shell, and she’s grinning and giggling at him constantly as he makes grand gestures and teases her and swears that he’s going to put the picture of her riding the unicorn front and center in his store. Her father watches him, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips, and the look of utter defeat lifts for at least a short period of time. Stiles is grateful he was able to give this family that moment.

When they’re taking a short break for Chrissy to rest and get her breath back, Stiles pulls her father aside. “Do you want me to edit anything out of the picture?” he asks in a low voice, checking to make sure Chrissy isn’t listening. “The breathing tube, for instance?”

He shakes his head adamantly. “She’s been upset lately that she isn’t pretty anymore. I don’t want her to look at these pictures and feel like she wasn’t good enough, just the way she is.”

Stiles aches. “She’s beautiful,” he whispers, and the man blinks, looking away, but not before Stiles catches the shimmer of tears. “I’ll make sure she sees that in every picture.” 

He devotes the entire rest of the session to making Chrissy feel like the most special and beautiful girl on the planet. He brings out the dress-up clothes and lets her put on feather boas and wide-brimmed hats, sparkling glittery heels and flowery stickers for her nails. Her father looks on with quiet amusement.

“You’re always prepared to have full-scale photo shoots with little girls?”

Shrugging, Stiles tilts his camera vertically and gets down on one knee for a closeup. “My best friend has a daughter,” he explains after taking the shot, pulling the camera back and winking at Chrissy, who grins at him. “She’s only four, not much younger than Chrissy.”

The father’s smile tightens. “She’s eight.”

_ Shit. _ “So a few years, still close,” he says, attempting to cover his gaffe. He turns to Chrissy, giving her an encouraging smile. “Bianca loves unicorns too, and dressing up and looking glamorous. I’m always adding something to the bin. You can come back and play with them whenever your daddy says it’s okay.”

“Derek.” Stiles glances up at him, confused, and he repeats himself. “My name is Derek. Derek Hale.”

“And my full name is Christiana Belle Hale,” Chrissy adds, dimpling. “But Daddy says it’s too fussy so he always calls me Chrissy.”

The lump in his throat grows. 

He doesn’t want the shoot to end because he knows he’ll have to say goodbye, but Chrissy is obviously worn out and struggling to keep the smile on her face. With regret, Stiles clicks one last picture and stands, rubbing his fist into the small of his back to work out the knots. “I think that’s a wrap,” he announces, forcing some cheer into his voice. 

Derek reaches for the wallet in his back pocket but Stiles stops him with a hand out and a firm stare. “Let me pay you for your time,” Derek protests, but Stiles can’t imagine taking money for this. “You let us in without an appointment and stayed long past your quitting time. I owe you.”

“No,” Stiles murmurs, glancing at Chrissy, who’s already nodding off against her dad’s hip. “You don’t owe me anything. You’ve already given me far more than I’ve given you.”

Derek looks down at Chrissy, whose fingers clench tightly into the thigh of his slacks, and nods, his throat working hard. “Thank you, Stiles,” he says. The words come out strangled, and Stiles isn’t going to cry, he isn’t.

Hunkering down, he gets on Chrissy’s level and smiles as warmly as he’s capable of. “It was an honor to get to meet you, Chrissy.” She lets go of her father and wraps her arms around Stiles’ neck, and he holds her as tight as he dares.

“I told Daddy you were the best photographer in the whole city, and I was right,” she mumbles sleepily into his ear, and he swallows past the lump, which has grown to be enormous. “Thank you for making me pretty again.”

Stiles hugs her close, letting her go only when he feels like the hug has gone on too long to be considered appropriate. As he rises, he meets Derek’s eyes. “Bring her in any time, I mean it. And you can come back to pick out whichever portraits you want, no charge.”

Derek nods, eyes wet and shiny, and bites down on his lip so hard that Stiles is surprised it doesn’t bleed. “Come on, Chrissy, it’s time to get you home,” he says softly. He doesn’t break eye contact with Stiles until the door shuts between them, and then father and daughter are gone.

Stiles goes back into the studio to break down the lights, but finds himself staring instead at the mess of dress-up clothes scattered around the floor, and an ache swells in his throat and chest. Sinking down onto the couch, Stiles buries his face in his hands, and lets the tears flow.

\-----

In the ensuing months, Stiles thinks about Chrissy and Derek a lot. He knows Derek came in for the prints because Lydia told him he showed up during Stiles’ lunch hour one day, but he hasn’t seen them since the night of the shoot. He tries not to think about what it might mean that Derek never takes him up on his offer to bring Chrissy by to play dress-up whenever she wants.

He had, as promised, hung the picture of Chrissy riding the unicorn in a place of honor behind the front counter so that everyone could see it. In the picture she’s smiling widely, one arm flung up in the air while the other one grips the unicorn’s mane. She’d felt slightly awkward about acting it out without actually riding anything, but Stiles had sworn she was a natural, and she was. Her dazzling green eyes sparkle, and Stiles feels a flutter in his heart every time he glances at it and sees how happy she is.

He hopes that the photo still makes her happy, every day.

It had been tough to avoid looking at the obituaries at first, wondering if she was gone, thinking about the heartache Derek would be experiencing. Stiles doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want confirmation that she’s passed, but he would like the opportunity to grieve with Derek. It’s an irrational thought, considering that he likely means nothing to the man, and he knew Chrissy for all of an hour and a half. They probably have a significant number of family and friends to be there for Derek, if he needs them.

After the first couple months, he stops feeling the urge to look at the obituaries. He likes to imagine that Chrissy is playing dress-up and cuddling her unicorn toys and smiling at her father, and that death is still far from her door. Whenever he looks at the picture, which is often, he makes up stories in his head of what she’s going to grow up to be, and do. 

In her honor, he’s also opened up one slot per week for children like her, children with illnesses whose families want happy portraits of them. Stiles can afford the hit, since he’s in such high demand he makes more money than he knows how to spend. He wants to be able to give back, to do something good with his work. It’s hard, watching all the children come in who likely don’t have much time left, but he can let it go when they walk out the door. Their stories and smiles and suffering touch him, but none have quite the same impact on him that Chrissy has.

He's studying the unicorn picture again when a smiling young girl comes barreling into the studio. Stiles is taken aback at her exuberance, and he's concerned when he realizes she's alone. “Can I help you?” he asks cautiously. She beams. 

“You already have,” she chirps, and he's mystified. She looks slightly familiar, but he's certain he doesn't know anyone with her striking black hair and expressive green eyes… 

Recognition clicks and his jaw quite literally drops. “Chrissy?” he gapes, and her smile goes from beaming to blinding. 

“You remember me!”

Stiles wants to squeeze her tight, but it's been over a year and he's still essentially a stranger, so he keeps his arms down instead of holding them out to her. The door chime goes off but he doesn't even acknowledge it because he’s so stunned by the dramatically different young girl in front of him. “Of course I do!”

“She was afraid you wouldn't know her anymore, considering she's changed quite a bit,” announces a rich, warm voice, and Stiles finally glances up and nearly swallows his tongue. 

He remembers his fleeting observation that Derek Hale would be an attractive man if he weren't so weighed down by grief and stress, but apparently that was a severe understatement. The man in front of him is nothing short of devastating.

“She’s not the only one who’s changed,” he mutters, then curses himself at the sound of Derek’s laughter.

Chrissy giggles too, throwing her arms around her father. “Are you surprised, Mister Stiles?”

“I am,” he assures her, and she giggles again as he makes a point to ostentatiously walk around her, gasping and marveling at the transformation she's gone through. He's being melodramatic to make her smile, but he's also using it to help cover how emotional he is. He'd never really thought she might have survived; he'd liked to imagine it, but realistically, it wasn't plausible. 

Except apparently, it was. 

“You realize this means we have to do another shoot,” he says gravely. “I have to have another unicorn picture to hang up beside the first one.”

“A before and after,” she adds, nodding sagely. 

Derek breaks in. “Please allow me to pay you this time,” he insists, but Stiles shakes his head. Derek can't match him for stubbornness, so he feels confident he'll win. 

“I should be paying  _ you _ for the privilege of getting to shoot such a beautiful subject,” he counters, and Chrissy’s eyes shine. 

Derek sighs, as if he expected the response. “Then please let us take you to dinner,” he suggests instead, and Stiles feels a flash of interest, and hope. A year ago he would never have considered flirting with the man, but now that his daughter isn't dying, he's fair game. And Stiles can't wait to play. “She's talked about you for the last year. You made quite an impression on her.” His voice and face soften as he adds, “And I haven't been able to forget about you, either.”

It sounds like flirting, it feels like flirting. Stiles figures he's safe to assume it's flirting. “I would love to have dinner with you both,” he announces, and the matching face-splitting grins that erupt on both father and daughter tell Stiles he's in trouble. 

Mama always did tell him he had a knack for it, and he wouldn't have it any other way. 

\-----

Stiles knows it isn't exactly a date, since Chrissy is there, but it feels like one. Derek is attentive and smiling, maintains eye contact while listening to Stiles’ stories, asks him questions, and in general is a completely charming dinner companion. 

His daughter is even more so. 

“It was my idea to wait,” she tells him as she picks at the remainder of their appetizer, fried pickles, which is her favorite according to Derek. They're waiting for their dessert to be delivered, but Chrissy apparently isn't about to leave leftovers. “I didn't want to relapse after telling you I'm in remission, so we waited. And then I didn't relapse, and I felt better and better, and my hair grew back, and I couldn't wait any more so I made Daddy bring me back to the studio.”

“She wouldn't let me come in with her,” Derek adds, ruffling her hair and smiling when she squawks at him in protest. “She wanted to see if you'd remember her and didn't want you to recognize me first.”

Stiles has no idea why he means so much to her, but he's definitely flattered. “I could never have forgotten you,” he tells her honestly. “I've thought about you so many times over the past year, wondering how you were and what you were doing.”

The grin she gives him makes the sun look like a low-watt light bulb. “You made me feel so pretty. I never thought I would be again, but every time I look at my unicorn picture I think how pretty I was.” Her smile dims a little as she continues, “And you didn't treat me like I was sick, like I was broken or already dead.”

It's a brutal statement, full of honesty and bravery, and Stiles can't help glancing at Derek for his reaction. His eyes shine, and he blinks rapidly to clear away what Stiles presumes are tears on the verge of spilling over. 

Stiles gives her a gentle smile. “You knew you were sick. It wasn't something I needed to remind you of.”

She nods, then looks to her father expectantly. “Can we keep him?”

Derek chokes, a bloom of pink cresting his cheeks, and Stiles tries to hide his amusement at her bluntness. “Honey, we can't keep other people, that's not how it works.”

“But if I have a say in the matter,” Stiles cuts in, “I wouldn't mind being kept.” He sends a sunny smile Derek's direction, enjoying the way his mouth gapes open like a startled pelican. “Not right away, of course. But I'd like to spend more time with both of you, if that's okay with your dad.”

Derek's mouth closes and his lips curve. “I'd like that, too.”

\-----

It becomes a regular thing over the next few weeks; Derek and Chrissy show up a few minutes to six, and the three of them go out to dinner, or a movie, or for ice cream cones and a walk in the park. Stiles loves it as much as he fears it. 

He loves spending time with them, and he adores Chrissy. She’s pure sunshine and makes him aware that before her and her dad, his life was mostly lived in shadows. Not that he didn’t have a full life without them, but now it’s…  _ more _ . And he’s afraid of how much it means to him. He’s afraid of how quickly it happened, how he went from being Stiles to being StilesandDerekandChrissy, and how much he needs it, and how much he can’t think of his life without them now. 

And he hasn’t even been on a damn date with Derek. 

About a month in, he’s desperate to figure out how to get Derek alone. It’s hard, though, because Derek doesn’t have any family, and he’s anxious about leaving Chrissy with anyone he doesn’t know. Stiles can completely understand that, what with Chrissy’s history, but there  _ has _ to be a way he can take Derek on an actual date and discuss things that minor children’s ears should not hear, and do things that no daughter should witness her father doing. 

Then comes the night when his father decides to swing by the studio, with Melissa in tow. 

“Hi, Pops,” he says easily, though he has his face crammed into the key light he’s trying to put away when they walk in the door. “Melissa. Good to see you.”

“Should I worry that you know it’s me without even looking?” she asks wryly, and he snorts.

“Nah. I recognize Dad’s date-night cologne, which means you’re the only person who could possibly be with him,” Stiles replies easily, finally fitting the key light into place and turning around, dusting his hands on his pants. “What brings you both in here on date night?”

John gives him a look that tries too hard to be innocent, which immediately makes him suspicious. “We just wanted to stop by and see you. You’ve been so busy lately that it feels like it’s been a month.”

“Hmm, what else has been a month?” Stiles ponders, exaggeratedly tapping his fingertip against his lip. “Oh, right! It’s been a month since Derek and Chrissy came back into my life. But that’s just a coincidence, isn’t it?"

John eyes him shrewdly. “We haven’t met them yet. And as you said, it’s been a month.”

“Melissa.” His voice is plaintive as he turns to her, eyes pleading. “Please tell me you’re not encouraging him in this.”

A mischievous smile plays around her mouth. “I have my ulterior motives.”

Stiles groans, but before he can say anything else about it, the chime over the door jingles and Hurricane Chrissy tears in, followed by her more sedate father. “Stiles! You’ll never guess what Daddy got me… NURSE MELISSA!”

He can feel his jaw drop when Chrissy throws herself at Melissa, squeezing her tightly, which Melissa returns immediately. “You  _ knew _ ?” he asks accusingly, and she shrugs, eyes twinkling.

“She couldn’t stop telling me about Mister Stiles and the unicorn picture. She made Derek show it to me every time I saw her,” she explains, a hint of laughter in her voice. “I didn’t want to spoil the hero worship by explaining I’ve seen you in your boxers with your hair standing on end and your fingers covered in orange Cheeto stains.”

“ _ Melissa _ ,” he hisses, tilting his head slightly in Derek’s direction. “Ix-nay on the ories-stay!”

Derek snorts. “Pig Latin isn’t going to save you here,” he teases. 

“Is there any chance I can convince you to leave now?” Stiles asks John, one eye squinched shut in defeat, already knowing the answer.

“Not a bit,” John says cheerily. He eyes Derek, sizing him up. “Derek Hale, I’m assuming. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Derek levels Stiles’ father with the charming smile that’s already got Stiles’ heart wrapped around it. “I could say the same, John. It’s clear Stiles loves his family, and he has a lot of respect for both of you.”

“You wouldn’t know it with the amount of sh--um, crap, he gives me,” he grumbles, but it’s good-natured and fond as he casts a glance over at Stiles. “Now what would you think if we took Chrissy to see a movie, and gave you two some time alone?”

Derek’s and Stiles’ eyebrows raise simultaneously, while Chrissy squeals and hugs Melissa tighter. “Can I, Daddy?” she pleads. “Nurse Melissa is awesome, and you and Stiles need time without me.”

“I’m just plain Stiles now, huh?” Stiles teases her, and she shrugs.

“You’re probably going to be my second dad someday, it would be weird if I kept calling you Mister.”

Melissa and John are completely unsuccessful at hiding their smiles while Derek blushes and Stiles chokes on nothing. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” Derek asks, trying to take back control of the conversation from his impish daughter. “You look like you’re dressed for a night out, too.”

“We were just going to do dinner and a movie,” Melissa says breezily, waving away his objection. “We can still do that with Chrissy. We get date nights regularly, we’re not missing out on anything.”

“Then I think that sounds like a nice change of plans,” Derek agrees, and Chrissy claps her hands, giggling when Derek makes a face at her. “If you’re okay with it,” he adds, looking over at Stiles.

_ More than.  _ “Yeah, that sounds fine to me. You know Melissa and Dad will take good care of her.”

“I have no doubt.” Derek smiles at him, and Stiles pushes away the gooey, squishy feeling. He has to shut down the studio and get John, Melissa, and Chrissy out the door. “Why don’t you three exchange contact information and firm up plans, and I’ll finish putting away the equipment and close everything up, okay?” 

Without waiting for a response, he heads back into the studio to put away the last of the lights. He can hear the distinctive click of the front door locking, a task he’s started letting Chrissy handle. She likes to flip the “come in, we’re open” sign to the “sorry, we’re closed” side, and Derek always makes sure the lock is solidly in place. He can also hear Derek and Melissa exchanging phone numbers and setting a time for Derek to swing by and pick Chrissy up from the Stilinski house. Stiles is inordinately pleased at the implication that he and Derek will still be out when John and Melissa get home. If only they’d arranged for Chrissy to stay overnight.

Next time.

\-----

“I was beginning to think we’d never have a night alone,” Derek confesses forty-five minutes later, settled into the couch with take-out Thai and the remote in hand. They’d decided to make the most of their time alone and skip out on a nice restaurant in favor of quiet time at Derek’s. Stiles thinks it’s already the best date he’s ever been on

“I’m sure we would have figured it out at some point,” Stiles assures him, smirking when he adds, “probably by the time Chrissy hit her teen years.”

Derek lets out a soft laugh, then pauses. “You’d have stuck it out with me that long?”

Stiles instinctively wants to say  _ yes, absolutely, I’d stick it out with you forever _ , but they’ve only been sort-of seeing each other for a month. This is, in all technicality, their first date. It’s too early to be making declarations like that, isn’t it?

As the silence drags on, Derek’s face and posture grow uncomfortable. “I put you on the spot, didn’t I?” he asks ruefully, and, well, he kind of did. But not in a bad way.

“I just didn’t know what kind of answer to give you,” Stiles says truthfully. “Tell you that yes, I can see us lasting that long, and possibly freak you out? Or tell you no, I wouldn’t have, and give you reason to worry I’m not serious about you?”

Derek nods, but doesn’t push the conversation, to Stiles’ relief. “Chrissy really likes you.”

“I really like  _ her _ ,” Stiles says simply. “The big question is, what does her dad think about me?”

Face softening, Derek leans in a little. Stiles mimics the movement. “He really likes you, too.”

“Good,” Stiles breathes. “Because I really like him back.”

He lets his eyes drift shut as Derek’s mouth finds his; it’s soft, sweet, but doesn’t push things any further. Stiles likes it. It’s a kiss that tells him they’re going to take their time. It’s different than what he’s used to, and it’s everything he never knew he wanted. 

When Stiles breaks away and opens his eyes, Derek’s are right there, smiling at him. He smiles back, then shifts until he’s leaning into Derek’s side, sighing happily when Derek’s arm settles around his shoulders. “Is it weird that we’re this comfortable with each other on our first date?”

Chuckling, Derek leans down slightly in order to press a kiss to his hair. “We’ve been dating for a month, Stiles. This is just the first time we’ve gotten to kiss and cuddle.”

“Really? We’ve been dating?” Stiles asks, surprised. “But Chrissy was there.”

Derek shrugs. “That’s what dating is like when you’re a single parent. I mean, there are times when you go out alone, and usually first dates  _ are _ just the two of you, but if there’s any hope of a future, dates end up being family affairs, so to speak. Our situation was different because Chrissy found you before I did, and she’s the reason we are where we are.”

“That reminds me. She obviously knew who I was, she called me the best photographer in the city. How did she find out about me?”

“You did a show at the Galleria about six months before her health really started to decline,” Derek explains, eyes taking on a far-away look as he reminisces. “She loved taking pictures, wanted to be a photographer herself, so when her best friend’s family decided to go to the show, they took her with them. She came back raving over it. Said all the photographs were in black and white, which can be really cold and bleak if not done properly, and all the subjects were the kinds of things that most people wouldn’t consider photo-worthy, but were absolutely beautiful with the way you framed them.”

Stiles blinks. He remembers that show, which Lydia had to push him into doing. “You remember all that?”

Derek snorts quietly, rubbing his thumb up and down the back of Stiles’ bicep. “Stiles, you underestimate how much my daughter adored you, even back then. You are literally her favorite photographer. She didn’t stop talking about the show for days, and I had to take her back twice before it closed. That's why you were the only one she trusted to take her pictures, to make her look pretty despite how sick she was.”

“Wow.” He falls silent, thinking about the strange twist of fate that brought them to this point. He hadn’t wanted to do the show, didn’t think his photos were the kind of thing that anyone else would be interested in. His studio was just starting to take off and he hadn’t wanted to be distracted from what he saw as the real money-maker. Lydia had put her foot down and told him what he did was art, it was more than just paying the bills, and he was damn well going to do the show.

He’s grateful now that she’s always known him better than he knows himself. He’d allowed himself to be talked into doing the show, and had been pleased with the results. Several of the photographs had sold for higher than his asking price because there’d been a bidding war, or so his agent told him, and his studio had spiked in popularity. 

And without that show, Chrissy would never have asked Derek to bring her to him.

After a few moments of silence, Derek clears his throat. “Would you like to see where we keep the ones we bought?”

Stiles bolts upright, looking at Derek in shock. “You have my photographs here? More than one?”

“Did you not just hear me tell you how crazy my daughter is about your art?” he responds dryly, but pulls himself up off the couch, with a hand out to Stiles to help him do the same. Stiles grabs it and revels in the warmth of Derek’s fingers wrapped around his own.

When he makes it to his feet, his mouth is mere inches from Derek’s. Derek takes the opportunity to close the distance and claim Stiles’ mouth with his own. Stiles is slightly embarrassed at how he sinks into Derek’s chest like a historical romance heroine, but the taste of Derek’s lips and the feel of firm pectorals under his fingertips whisk the thought from his mind as soon as it enters.

He loses track of time as they stand there like that, one of Derek’s hands on his hip, the other tenderly cupping the back of his neck. It’s just as gentle as their previous kiss, unhurried, and Stiles wants to drown in it forever.

Eventually, though, Derek steps back and clears his throat. “The photos are in Chrissy’s room,” he says, voice rough, and Stiles reaches down to take his hand so Derek can lead him.

Her room is predictably girly, with lots of pink and unicorns and sparkles, but one wall is covered in photographs. There are black and white as well as color, architectural and portraits and still lifes and nature. It’s a hodgepodge, but it’s controlled chaos. Stiles falls in love with it instantly. When he looks closer he recognizes his photos, which form a small ring near the center, around a lone picture of a beautiful woman with long, dark hair. She somewhat resembles Derek, but Stiles knows he’s looking at a picture of Chrissy’s mother, because she’s what Chrissy is going to look like in ten years.

“She’s beautiful,” he says softly, and Derek must realize what’s stolen his focus, because he nods. “Losing her must have been extraordinarily painful.”

“It was like losing my best friend,” Derek says, his voice equally as soft as Stiles'. “Made worse by the fact that I had a baby to take care of, with no idea how to be a parent. I wasn’t ready to take on that role while still grieving.”

“But you stepped up because Chrissy needed you.”

Derek’s grip on his hand tightens, and Stiles leans into him just slightly. “She did. I owed it to Laura to do the best I could for her child. Now I can’t imagine not having Chrissy in my life, although I’d give up the chance to be her dad if it could bring my sister back.”

Stiles gapes at him. “ _ What _ ?”

Derek stares at him in confusion, then winces when understanding hits. “I may have forgotten to mention that Chrissy is biologically my niece. I adopted her when my sister died.”

Dropping his face into Derek’s shoulder, Stiles can’t help but let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, you may have forgotten to mention that.” His lips are close, so he skims a kiss over Derek’s shoulder. “Not that it matters to me, of course. She’s your daughter now, but that would have been good information to have. Here I’ve been thinking that you’re being reminded of your dead wife or whatever whenever Chrissy mentions her mother.”

Chuckling, Derek drops Stiles’ hand and slips his arm around Stiles’ waist instead. “I’ve never been married. There was a woman once, when Chrissy was young, but she wasn’t ready to be a mother. She especially didn’t want to be a mother to someone else’s kid.”

“Then she’s an idiot,” Stiles says frankly. “I mean, parenting isn’t for everyone, but objecting to Chrissy not being her biological child? Dumb. Chrissy is amazing, and so are you. She gave up the chance to have a life with two incredible people.”

“I’m glad she did,” Derek murmurs, eyes shining when Stiles shifts to look him in the face. “If she hadn’t, you wouldn’t be standing here right now.”

“Maybe I should get her a thank-you card,” Stiles snorts, but the words trail off when he tips his chin and kisses Derek again, feeling like he’s going over a waterfall, a free-falling rush leaving his stomach in knots and roaring in his ears, and loving every second of it.

\-----

Their routine soon falls into an every-night occasion, and now includes both of their homes. Stiles improves upon his rudimentary cooking skills in order to make sure Chrissy and Derek both eat good dinners every night, since Derek’s cooking skills never hit close to rudimentary and they live on delivery. Derek allows Stiles and Chrissy to teach him the basics of photography so he can understand what they’re talking about when they get into one of their rapid-paced back-and-forths on the merits of one artist or another. Or at least somewhat understand them.

It had been by mutual, implicit agreement that Stiles started staying over some nights. At first it had been a situation where Derek was double-booked and wasn’t going to be able to get Chrissy to school, so Stiles had volunteered to drive her the next morning. She suggested he stay the night with them so he would be there and ready to go in the morning. Derek and Stiles had glanced at each other over her head, understood without saying anything that both were more than up for the idea, and that was that. From then on there were frequently little reasons for him to stay, and all of them soon accepted there was no more reason to ask.

Four months after the first night he stayed with them, he gets the renewal reminder for his apartment’s lease. Derek looks at it and asks, “Do you want to renew?”

“Is there an option for me not to?”

They look at each other for a long moment, and Derek leans over to press a lingering kiss to his lips. “There always was.”

Stiles does not renew his lease.

\-----

Stiles teaches Chrissy the finer points of photography composition and lighting, and how to print her own photos in his darkroom. Derek indulgently hangs them all in the living room, even the botched prints that are overexposed. Gradually she gets better, and by the time Stiles’ next gallery showing rolls around, she has several that he decides to show along with his.

“Are you serious?” she shrieks, throwing her arms around his neck and peppering his face with kisses. He laughs and squeezes her tight.

“If I’m going to hand the studio down to you someday, you’re going to have to be good enough to be the head photographer,” he jokes. “You’re almost eleven now, time for you to start earning your keep.”

She blinks up at him, owl-eyed. “You’d give me the studio?”

“Of course. I want to keep it in the family.”

It doesn’t strike him just then, the enormity of what he’s said. All he knows is Chrissy bursts into tears and Derek looks at him like he’s never loved him more. “What?”

Derek doesn’t answer him then, but later that night, after Chrissy has gone to bed, their lovemaking is especially intense. 

Stiles flops on his back, out of breath. “Not that I am in any way complaining, but what was that about?”

“You just reminded me today of all the reasons I fell in love with you,” Derek murmurs, curling into his side and pressing a kiss to his sweaty shoulder. “You took on a single dad and his daughter with no hesitation and the biggest heart I’ve ever known. We didn't have a family before you, so that word means something to us. And yes, you’ve been part of our family for a long time, but it always went unsaid. Putting it into words today…”

“Made it real?” Derek nods, and Stiles rolls onto his side enough to slip an arm over Derek’s waist, pulling him in close. “It’s real, Derek. It’s always been real. I’m in love with you in a way I never knew was possible, and you and Chrissy will be my family for as long as you let me stay.”

Derek’s eyes mist over, his voice gentle as he says, “Forever, Stiles. We’ll let you stay forever.”

\-----

Their wedding comes and goes with little fanfare. Their only guests are their family; John and Melissa, Scott and Allison and Bianca, Lydia and her girlfriend Erica. They’ve become Derek and Chrissy’s family over the last two years as well, so it’s a close-knit, intimate affair.

Lydia takes their wedding photos, including the one that hangs over the mantle in the living room. It’s Stiles’ favorite photo of the entire day and his breath catches every time he looks at it. In it, he and Derek have lifted Chrissy into their arms, and she sits on the bridge they’ve formed for her with them, one arm wrapped around each of their necks. They all three have their heads together, and though their faces are nearly concealed, nothing can hide the radiant joy of their smiles.

Stiles can’t stop marveling over the fact that he’s married now. He has a husband, and a daughter. Life can be so goddamn weird, but he wouldn’t change the path his has taken for anything in the world.

He and Derek have only been married a few months when the inevitable occurs. He and Chrissy are in the kitchen, working on dinner, when he unthinkingly says, “Hey, Chrissy-Belle, would you grab the streaks from the fridge?”

He knows immediately she’s going to give him shit, because she’s done so every time he’s used the nickname he’d given her once he officially moved in. He likes having a name for her that’s his own, and he suspects she likes it too. Still, she never fails to feign annoyance at the childish moniker.

Predictably, she rolls her eyes, but when she huffs in fond exasperation, it’s accompanied by a long-suffering, drawn-out, “Daaaaaaad!”

Stiles takes it in stride, winking at her. Later, when he tells Derek, he isn’t ashamed to admit he cries. Derek slides his arms around Stiles’ waist, pulling him close, and Stiles swears he hears Derek choke back a sniffle, too.

\-----

Epilogue

“Our anniversary is coming up next week,” Derek says from behind his book, and Stiles pauses on his way up the stairs, laundry basket cocked on his hip.

“God, it is. How has it been five years already?” he marvels.

Derek grins at him, eyes crinkling, the crow’s feet and laugh lines more pronounced now than they’ve ever been. “Time flies when you’re having fun.”

Stiles groans. “And Chrissy is always accusing  _ me _ of being the cheesy one.” He drops the laundry basket by the bottom of the stairs and drops himself into Derek’s lap, dislodging the book from his grip. Derek doesn’t protest when the book drops to the floor, instead settling one hand on Stiles’ hip and the other over his thigh. “What do you want to do for it?”

“Chrissy has practice for the play that night. What do you say to taking advantage of having the house to ourselves for a few hours?” His eyes darken, heating up with intent.

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s neck, grinning wickedly. “I’d say you better rest up that day, because I’m going to wear your ass out.”

When Chrissy opens the front door a few minutes later, she catches them in the midst of an intense make-out session. “Ewwww! Daddy, Dad, we have a guest! Stop being gross!”

They don’t jump apart, instead separating slowly, dropping little kisses on each other’s lips until they’re ready to break the connection. Stiles looks up at the amused girl standing next to Chrissy. “Hi, friend of Chrissy’s we haven’t met yet.”

“Ugh, you’re so embarrassing,” Chrissy groans, flinging her arms in the air. “This is Natalia, she’s my girlfriend in the play. We’re going to run lines for awhile.” Turning to the pretty redhead, she adds, “These are my embarrassing dads. Wave politely and let’s get out of here.”

Natalia giggles and waves. “Hi, nice to meet you.” Her eyes catch on the picture hanging over the couch, and she asks with interest, “What’s that?”

Stiles twists to look up at the photo of Chrissy riding a unicorn, a photo that’s been a part of their story for the past eight years, and smiles. “That? That’s the beginning of everything.”


End file.
